Watch Over Me
by kinky mama
Summary: There's a serial killer on the loose, can Daryl figure out who it is and stop them before the next victim with a knife through his eye shows up? Total AU, no zombies. Main character is Daryl, but most TWD characters make an appearance. Rated T for language.
1. Chapter 1

"Dayum, someone has some serious issues", Finley remarked, smacking his gum.

"So whatcha think boss, weird psycho killer has an eye fetish or sumthin, eh?" Finley laughed at his own inside joke while bouncing on his toes, vigorously rubbing his hands together.

His partner ignored him. Finley was a major pain in the ass and he hated working with him. The man was constantly fidgeting, bouncing around, rubbing his hands and smacking his damn gum. It was like working with an ADHD person wired on crank or something.

"Shut it Finley and let me work. Why don't you go bounce over somewhere else and leave me alone so I can work the scene."

Finley's partner was sitting on the balls of his feet, latex gloves pulled on, examining the poor slob in front of him. Crime scene techs were combing the area, placing markers next to whatever pieces of evidence they could find.

On the ground was a man who in better days was probably a decent guy, but who was he to guess. He was dressed nicely, business casual most would call it. Looked like he was fairly good looking, although the huge knife sticking out of his eye put a damper on his looks.

"Detective!"

A street cop came jogging up, and realizing he was being ignored, called again.

"Detective!"

"Detective Dixon?"

Daryl looked up from searching the man's pockets and looked at the man.

"Whaddya want, 'm fuckin' busy," he growled.

The street cop looked nervous, the last thing he wanted to do was talk to the notorious Detective Dixon. The man was known for frying your balls off with one angry look. He may have been the best homicide cop out there, but he was scary as hell.

Wringing his hands a little, then catching himself and trying to pretend he wasn't the least bit ready to piss himself, he said, "I'm sorry sir, but it just came in over the radio, there's been another one."

* * *

"Fuck'n hell" Daryl grumbled. That made 4 bodies so far, all within a week, and all with the same M.O. - nice looking guys, white, darker hair, big fucking knife in the eye. He was having a hell of a time trying to dig up any clues, other than there being 4 dead men with knives in their eyes. So far no trace evidence had been found. No hairs, fibers, or god forbid a print here or there. Nothing.

Daryl was still squatting over the body, debating on leaving this stiff for the newer one. He wanted to comb the area more, hell he'd only gotten a good look at the exterior of the body. He hadn't had time to toss all the pockets or search the surrounding area. If he left now, he'd have to rely on the nitwits here to hopefully not fuck up his crime scene and maybe find something. But, if he didn't hightail it out to the new scene, then the longer it took him to get out there, the more likely the new scene would be corrupted by whatever flat foot was first on scene.

Sighing he stood up, knees popping. Too many years of squatting over stiffs meant sounding like a damn bowl of rice crispy cereal every time he stood up. Ripping of his gloves he bellowed at his partner.

"FINLEY! Get your skinny ass over here and be useful."

Finley came bouncing over, smacking his gum.

"Get rid of the fucking gum before I choke you to death". Daryl was thinking he could kill two birds with one piece of gum.

"Stay here and work the scene. I gotta head over to the new one before it gets fucked up. Keep your eye on the grunts and make sure they don't contaminate anything. And for god's sake don't leave until the scene is done."

Finley smacked his gum, clucked twice and shot Daryl a wink and a finger-gun salute, "You got it boss!"

Daryl shook his head and glared at Finely, "Fucking retard".

* * *

Daryl arrived at the newest scene and barked at the grunt standing at the crime scene tape.

"You best pray no one has fucked up my scene patrolman!"

The patrolman jumped and looked visibly shaken when he saw it was Daryl.

"Detective D-Dixon, no sir! No one has been in the scene other than the person who discovered the body."

Daryl grunted back at him as he ducked under the tape, snapping on his gloves and wishing he could grab a quick smoke. He looked up at the front of the building. A sign reading "McGinty's Pub" was hanging. Daryl knew the place, wasn't a total dive, but wasn't exactly a 5 star joint either. He'd been here a few times for a beer with his brother and some of the guys they hung out with.

Stepping in the front door, he was waved over to an area in the back. Another detective, Martinez, if Daryl remembered, held a door open for him and said "Body's back here. Gonna need to be a bit more careful with this one."

Daryl glanced at the man from the side, "Pfft, I'll let you know what needs to be done, now back off and let me work."'

Martinez just stepped back. He didn't feel like getting into any kind of pissing contest with the redneck.

Martinez watched Daryl work. It was a well known fact in Atlanta PD that Dixon was one of, if not _the_, best homicide cops around. The man had a spooky knack for tracking down leads and perps. It was like he had some kind of sixth sense about him. Yet the man was as surly as hell. Saying he was rough around the edges was an understatement. He was always found in jeans, boots and either a t-shirt or a button down shirt with the sleeves ripped off. He looked like some back hills hillbilly. Scruffy goatee and hair finished off the look. And when it wasn't a hundred and five fucking degrees outside, you could always find him in his beat up leather vest.

And pigs would fly out of a snow-covered hell before he was ever accused of being politically correct.

But despite all that, the man was an amazing cop. He had quickly worked his way up the ranks of Atlanta PD and been named Detective some 10 years ago. If Martinez remembered correctly, he'd become the youngest cop to make Detective, and he'd had his eyes aimed at homicide.

"Well shit, this does make things interesting, don't it."

Daryl sat back on his heels and looked at Martinez.

"The fuck Phillip Blake doing in a dive like this?"

* * *

**AN: OK, so this is my second attempt at writing, and this time I wanted to do a truly AU story. In S3E1 when Zach thinks Daryl is a homicide cop always made me laugh, and inspired this.**

**My apologies to anyone I offended with using 'retard'. I just thought it would be something Daryl would totally say.**

**I really hope you'll follow/review, etc. Thanks for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

Jesus. Phillip Blake. What in the world was he doing in the back of a dumpy bar, dead as a doornail? Daryl was really stumped now. Same M.O. as his other three cases. Except this time instead of some unknown person with a knife in his eye, it was the Governor laying there.

Daryl looked up at Martinez. "This is gonna fuckin' hit the fan. Ain't no way to keep this under wraps for long." Daryl sighed. The Governor of Atlanta being a victim of foul play was gonna really get the media stirred up.

Standing up and looking around, Daryl tried to take in the crime scene. As with his other scenes, nothing popped out at him that screamed "Evidence! Come find me!". Martinez walked over to Daryl, but kept his distance a bit, so as not to impede the other's man space. Martinez knew Dixon kept his personal bubble well protected.

"So, this certainly ups the ante a bit eh jefe?" Martinez said.

Daryl sighed and reached around to grab his neck and rub it, tilting his head side to side to crack his neck.

"Shitchyea it does. The fuck is the gov'nuh doing in this part of town?"

Daryl looked back to Martinez, who shrugged silently. Daryl went back to working the crime scene, hoping, probably uselessly, that some of what they were tagging would actually be considered evidence and at least give them a clue to their perp. Martinez worked the bar staff that had showed up to discover the body, and some of the gathering crowd.

Walking back out and ducking under the tape, Daryl yanked off his gloves and shoved them at some grunt, grumbling at the man to throw them out for him. He patted his back pockets, then his shirt pocket, coming out empty handed.

"Aw fuck man, really? I need a fucking smoke."

Martinez walked over pulling his own pack out and offered one to Daryl, then offered the lighter. Daryl took it happily and took a long drag, cracking his neck again, trying to relieve some of the stress. Daryl nodded a thanks to the man, and took another drag.

Daryl took his time smoking, and looking at Martinez out of the corner of his eye. He really wished Martinez had been assigned to him as partner. In a perfect world Daryl would be on his own, but the chief insisted everyone partner up. Finley drove Daryl nuts, and he truly believed he was given the pain in the ass on purpose. But Martinez, he was solid. He was quiet, not full of himself and got the job done, and done well. Daryl shook his head, took the last drag, then flicked his butt on the grown and toed it into the dirt.

Martinez chuckled quietly to himself.

"The fuck you gigglin' like a girl about Martinez," Daryl growled.

Martinez looked at Daryl and chuckled again. "I'm laughing at you Dix. I couldn't help but notice your new partner's not here with you, and so I was just wondering if I won the pot or not".

Daryl looked at him, hands on his hips. "Care to elaborate?"

Martinez laughed again and replied, "Squad's got a pool going to see how many days it'll take for you to off Finley. I picked a week, and I'm just wondering if I'm eating well tonight, jefe."

Daryl snorted. That figured. They stick him with the moron then bet to see how long it takes before he kills the little shit.

"Sorry man, he's still breathin'. For now. Left the fucking shithead at the other crime scene so I could take this one. Fucking prick is seriously tryin' my patience though. Gonna fucking strangle him with his own gum."

Martinez just laughed quietly and walked off.

* * *

"You went out there to the media and told them about Blake? Are you fucking _serious_?!".

Daryl was beyond pissed off, he was seeing red. He was stomping in circles around the squad room, using every ounce of willpower not to walk over and beat the idiot in front of him to death.

"I could stomp your ass! How could you be so fuckin' stupid?!"

Most of the occupants of the squad room had quickly gotten up and moved back out of the way, safe enough to be out of range of Daryl, but close enough to watch the show as Daryl took down the man now locked in his sights.

The man currently being targeted was Milton Mamet, three years with APD as PR rep. And right now he was seriously wishing he was anywhere but here.

He pushed his eyeglasses back up his nose and tried to force himself not to shake.

"I'm sorry Detective Dixon, but it is my job to alert the media to a potential serial killer. And now with a prominent victim the people have a right to know."

Daryl stopped his pacing and went deathly quiet. He stared at the mousy man and stalked slowly up to him, never once breaking eye contact with him.

In a low, deadly voice, he asked "And who the fuck gave you the ok to discuss the details of _my_ cases to the media? Who approved blabbing to the goddamn media that we have no fucking leads, no fucking clues, to these murders? Because it better be someone besides you who made that call or I will tear you into teeny tiny pieces and feed them to the gators you stupid son of a bitch."

Mamet swallowed loudly, then tried to stand up straight and make himself seem more important than the redneck cop in front of him. Trying to look down his nose at a man who had biceps bigger than his own legs, he replied,

"Commander Walsh of course."

Daryl crossed his arms and in a low voice growled out "you best get out of my sight."

Out of the corner of his eye, Daryl saw money changing hands amongst the chicken shits hiding by the back doors.

Daryl wasn't surprised. He really wasn't. Walsh had a bug up his ass about Daryl. Daryl really didn't give two shits about Commander Shane Walsh. The man liked to strut around like he was king of the world, chest puffed out and his buttons polished so he could admire his own face in them. Best Daryl could figure, Walsh hated him because Daryl refused to kiss anyone's ass, and especially his. Walsh had told him that he'd have fired Daryl ages ago but because of his incredible record of solving cases, the Commissioner wouldn't allow it. Walsh thought himself above everyone else, and the fact he couldn't get rid of the dirty redneck who never dressed right, spoke right and very rarely followed protocols rubbed him the wrong way.

So Walsh found other ways to irritate him. Like giving him Finley. And now this latest fiasco of alerting the media to these killings and then bluntly telling them they were nowhere. He was sure his name had been liberally used as the lead detective.

Daryl turned around to his audience and yelled for his partner.

"Finley! Stop hiding in the back and get your ass to work!"

Finely squeezed out of the group, popping his gum and winking to his co-workers while paying up his lost bet on Daryl.

He sashayed up to Daryl and popped his gum again. "Whassup bossman? Lay it on meee" he said with a wiggle of his shoulders.

Daryl glared at him. This little prick was truly clueless as to how eager Daryl was to "lay it on him."

"Be useful for a change. Go write up the reports to Walsh. Then make sure any evidence that was collected is accounted for. I don't want any mistakes with this."

Daryl was just about to give another order when he heard a tell-tale 'click, click, click' of high heels that made him go cold and his spine tighten.

Oh holy fuck, could his day get any worse.

* * *

**AN: So Daryl's bad day is about to get worse. I'm about to introduce another character and I'm thinking I'm gonna have fun with them.**

**As always, I hope you'll take a moment to review!**


	3. Chapter 3

Daryl could not believe his luck. Of all days he had to deal with her now.

"Well my, my, looks like the prodigal son is 0 for 4" a rich, southern drawl proclaimed.

Daryl turned around to face his demon.

Lori Walsh came strutting into the squad room. She was dressed to the nines, as usual. 5 inch Christian Louboutin heels, slinky dress, diamonds on the wrists, neck and ears. Blood red lips.

Daryl despised this woman with everything in his soul. She had once been married to his childhood friend Rick Grimes. But a few years ago she hooked up with Shane Walsh, while still married to Rick, and ended up pregnant with his child. Rick filed for divorced, and she married Shane within a month of the divorce becoming legal.

She had never liked Daryl, nor the fact that he and Rick were best friends growing up. Lori had always felt that Rick spent too much time with Daryl and not enough with her. She was another who liked to look down her nose at people, and him in particular. Lori had always made Daryl feel like white trash, drawing attention to her designer clothes and showing off her things. As a kid Daryl really hated her. Daryl couldn't help being dirt poor. He lived in a cabin in the woods and never had much of anything. And then dealing with his parents' abuse usually left him wanting to be on his own and away from other people.

But Rick had befriended him and didn't care about Daryl's background. He knew that Daryl was beaten often and tried to provide a safe place for him when needed. But he didn't care that Daryl didn't have the newest toys or fancy clothes. When Lori had entered the picture Daryl had felt like Rick had been manipulated by Lori's looks and money. He was never sure what they saw in each other. Rick wasn't really in the same league. But his daddy was important, being a police commissioner, and so maybe she thought she'd be worming her way into something good. In their first year of college, Lori got pregnant by Rick, and they got married, the rest was history.

Rick and Daryl remained friends, each of them lending support to the other, Rick for when Daryl got caught in a beating, Daryl for when something went sour with Lori. Daryl was glad their son had taken after Rick and not Lori. He was good solid kid.

Daryl took a deep breath and looked at the she-devil.

"What do you want Lori" he said in a monotone voice.

Lori took off one of her gloves and then widened her eyes and stilled.

"That's _Mrs. Walsh_" to you, _detective_", she said haughtily.

Before he could reply he heard another sound that grated on his nerves just as much as the bitch in front of him.

"But daddy, I want to go shopping nooooow" a petulant voice came from the hallway. Rounding the corner came Commander Walsh and the Walsh devil-spawn Judith.

Judith saw her mother and ran up to her and put on a first class pout. "Mommy I want to go shopping now!" she cried, complete with foot stomp.

"Now baby girl, your daddy and I just need to talk to these people and then we will go shopping and get you whatever you like, okay sweetie?"

Judith looked appeased, at least for the moment. She crossed her arms and pouted though. Little pigtails bouncing. And seriously, were those diamonds in _her_ ears as well?

Daryl shook his head at the kid and muttered "Fuckin' spoiled brat."

Lori jerked up and spat at him indignantly, "Language! There are _children_ present!"

Daryl just snorted at her then turned his back to her. He looked over at Walsh. "You need somethin' from me Commander?"

Walsh looked down at him. "I'd like an update as to where we are on the Blake homicide."

Daryl looked him straight in the eye. "We're in the same damn place we were when you started that fuckin' media shit out there" he spat.

Daryl could hear Lori start to sputter again at Daryl's language in front of her precious child, but he ignored her.

Walsh just looked at Daryl. "Detective Dixon, I'd like a private verbal account of where we stand on these murders."

An hour later Daryl emerged from Walsh's office. He was tired, physically and mentally. He figured he'd take more shit for talking like he did in front of his family, but honestly it was hard not. So he stood there as Walsh dressed him down and re-iterated how he'd like nothing more than to fire his backwoods ass, and if it wasn't for Commissioner Grimes he'd have been booted to the curb long ago. Nothing that Daryl hadn't heard before.

Daryl sat at his desk and read the note from Finley that said all of the reports had been processed and that he had checked out for the night. At least Daryl wouldn't have to deal with him. He worked for another hour on the cases, then called his brother up. He needed to unwind.

"Merle, yeah it's me. Hey wanna hit up the Crest for a drink? Yeah, cool. Meet'cha there in 20."

Daryl hung up the phone and grabbed his leather jacket and grabbed the keys to his bike. He stepped outside the precinct and headed for his bike, a Triumph Scrambler. The only thing left in his life that he truly valued. Except maybe his brother. He mounted up and revved up the engine and pulled out, letting the wind blow past him and take some of the stress with it. Nothing calmed him more than riding, just him and his bike and the wind. When he died, he wanted to be buried with his bike.

He pulled up to a dive of a bar called the Crest. Only locals dared go there, and even then, only a certain type were brave enough to go in the door. It was a rough place, but it's why Daryl and Merle liked it. Deep down, despite his badge and rank, Daryl was still a backwoods boy. He didn't sit at fancy bars sipping cocktails. The Crest catered to a lot of bikers, which suited the Dixon men just fine. Merle had ridden his Harley in and Daryl backed his Triumph in next to him. He walked in to find Merle had started without him, taking a swig of his beer and flirting with some woman. If Daryl knew his brother, he wouldn't be going home alone tonight. Merle was a charmer, despite his rough appearance and language.

Merle spotted Daryl and waved him over. "Well baby brother, there ya are!" Merle swung a beer at him that he had ordered for Daryl. Daryl nodded his thanks and sat down. He drank in silence for a moment, while Merle just quietly watched him from the corner of his eye. Merle gave him his space. He knew what was bugging his little brother, he'd caught the news brief. He knew Daryl was frustrated, pissed, you name it.

Daryl took a long drink and put his glass down. He rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands, then started chewing on the side of his thumb. Merle was always amazed there was ever any skin left on Daryl's thumbs to continue biting at. His baby brother's one and only tell.

"So I take it things didn't improve today" he said quietly.

Daryl snorted and looked at his brother from the side before gulping down the rest of his beer.

"Yeah, ya could say that." Daryl kept chewing on the side of his thumb.

"Fucking Lori Walsh came in with her little brat to spit in my face about it".

Merle whistled and shook his head, taking a swig of his own beer. "That bitch gotta go an' put her fucking plastic surgery nose inta every damn thing." Merle finished his beer and flagged the barman down for another round for him and Daryl. "Them two's perfect for each 'uther, her and Shane. Two fuckin' peas in a pod."

Daryl hadn't said anything, he didn't need to. He knew Merle knew how he was feeling. Being the older brother, Merle had tried to protect Daryl as best he could when they were growing up. Merle knew Daryl took the brunt of their old man's beatings, and he always tried to get between them to take some of it for him. Merle had learned how to read his little brother.

Merle clapped his brother on the back, squeezing his shoulder, silently giving his brother the support he needed.

**AN: I really liked how in TWD Merle redeemed himself at the end, and thought it was so unfair that in order to redeem himself, Daryl had to lose him. So in my story Daryl gets his brother back. I have some surprises in store for Merle though.**

**And to all the Lori lovers out there, lol, sorry! But I couldn't resist. She always came off as so pompous to me, especially around Daryl.**

**And as always, please, pretty please, give me a review, even a quick one :-)**


	4. Chapter 4

Daryl rode home from the bar, letting the wind blow through his hair and clear his mind. He knew what day it was, and that it meant fighting to stay out of his self-imposed despair. But with the murders and having to deal with the assholes at work and then the confrontation with both Lori and Shane, he knew he wasn't going to win this time. He pulled up into his driveway and killed the engine on his bike. He walked in and went straight into his kitchen for another beer. He wasn't drunk, and he needed to be. Yanking the cap off the bottle and flinging it into the trash can he finished it in less than a minute before reaching in for another one. He could feel the dead weight of grief trying to pull him down, and today he just wasn't going to fight it. Today he would let it win.

He downed the second, then a third, then fourth beer before taking the last bottles of that pack into his living room and slumping down onto his couch. He stared out his window, not seeing anything outside, but the memories did their little slideshow in HD through his mind. He downed the bottle in his hand then went for the last one. He just wanted to be numb tonight. He leaned over and pulled open the little drawer on the end table next to the couch, removing the photo that he kept there. It was well worn from many nights like this one, where Daryl would sit and hold it. He leaned over to the open drawer again and took the ring out, clutching it in his hand.

He could feel the tears work their way up and out, and he didn't fight them. He rubbed the small ring absent-mindedly while staring at the last photo ever taken of him and his wife. God he missed her. He caressed her picture with his thumb and wished he could join her in death. She was so different from him, he thought. So small and petite, always a small little smile on her face. He never really did understand what she saw in him, the rough-around-the-edges redneck. But they had fallen hard for each other. She had been his lifeline, his center. When she had died, Daryl had lost all of the parts of himself that were good, they died with her.

As he continued to stare at her picture, he couldn't fight the images that he knew would come next. The sight of her car in the tunnel, completely mangled. There was no way in hell anyone would have survived it, no matter how many safety features the car had. It was complete and utter destruction. He remembered running up to the scene in a complete panic, not wanting to believe what he'd been told. It couldn't be his wife, it just couldn't. Fighting the officers on scene to let him under the tape, and finally punching one and managing to get up to the car. His wife, his unborn daughter, dead. There was no denying it. No one could've survived the crash.

Daryl sobbed quietly to himself on his couch, reliving his hell, holding on to his picture and the ring, until finally, mercifully, he murmured to himself, "My sweet Carol, I miss you" before passing out.

Later that evening Merle let himself in, making sure to be quiet. He knew what he'd find in the living room. It was the same scene every anniversary of Carol's death. He came in and slipped the picture from Daryl's limp hands, then carefully pried Carol's wedding ring out of the other, and replaced them in the end table drawer. Grabbing the blanket off the chair he covered his brother to keep him warm, then gathered the beer bottles to put them in the trash.

He pulled the blanket a little tighter, then rested his hand on his brother's head.

"Peace, baby brother, peace."

And with that Merle threw the bottles out and made his way upstairs to his own room, his heart heavy.

* * *

The next morning Daryl made his way into work, tired and irritable. Merle had made a pot of coffee before he'd left the house and made it strong, knowing Daryl would need it. Next to the pot had been a new bottle of Tylenol. Daryl had snorted to himself, his brother knew how to take care of him on these days, and he was grateful for it.

Walking over to his desk he found Finley at his, looking at something on the computer. He looked up as Daryl placed his stuff down on the desk and greeted him in true Finely fashion.

"Hidy-ho bossman how's it going?" His ever present gum popping and a double wink to finish it.

Daryl just sat down and booted his system up, choosing to ignore the welcome. He rubbed his eyes with his palms, and without looking over asked, "Any word from toxicology yet?".

Finley was bouncing his head to some kind of internal song playing in his brain, he looked like a damn chicken.

"Nopity-nope boss" he replied, still bouncing his head. "But they said they should have the first one by end of day, dunno about the others."

Daryl just nodded his head. He was hoping the tox reports would have something in them that he could use. So far, as the Walsh bitch had pointed out, he was batting zero.

Just then he heard a round of whistles and catcalls throughout the squad room, and he looked up to see one of the vice agents bringing in a familiar prostitute who'd been busted again. Looked like Michonne had drawn the short straw for working undercover again. Daryl chuckled to himself as he watched her drag her perp in. He loved it when Michonne drew the short straw, and not just because she had a smoking hot body that when undercover left little to the imagination, but it was the fact that she was so not girly at all. This was a woman who could rip your balls off and shove them up your nose before you could finish ogling her. So it was always fun to see this tough as nails woman all dolled up like a street walker. And the fact that it usually embarrassed the shit out of Michonne to walk through the squad room like that only made it better.

But she strode in wearing her white platform stripper shoes, denim hot shorts and a barely-there halter top and with her make-up and hair done, dragging a handcuffed mess alongside her. Daryl leaned back in his chair, arms behind his head and smiled as they walked up and past his desk.

Michonne glared at him, but he saw her ears turn pink, even against her black skin and she threw him a "fuck off" as she plopped her girl in the chair next to the desk across from him. Daryl looked at the prostitute and nodded a hello at her.

"Andrea, good to see you as always".

"Fuck you man, this is total bullshit and you know it. It was entrapment, pure and simple!" she cried, mascara running down her cheeks and giving her a raccoon look.

Daryl just laughed and went back to work, ignoring the irritated girl across from him. She was wearing see-through plastic platforms, a mini skirt and a fishnet top with her bra under it and continued to claim to an ignoring Officer Michonne that she had just been waiting for her grandpa to pick her up, not soliciting sex. Andrea was in here at least 3-4 times a month.

* * *

Later that day the tox reports came in on Daryl's first victim, as well as the autopsy reports. He read the autopsy report first not surprised in the least when the coroner claimed death was due to a fucking knife through the eye. But looking at the tox screen Daryl finally got a small lead.

The victim had Rohypnol and alcohol in his system. Hmm, not something usually found in male vics, Daryl thought, usually women. He was wondering if his other vic would have the same thing.

"Finley, stop bouncing around for a second, we finally have a small bit of info on vic #1."

Finely looked up at Daryl over his monitor. "Whaddja find boss man?"

"Looks like our vic had trace amounts of alcohol and Rohypnol in his system."

Finely raised his eyebrows. "Really? That's interesting. Usually only find the date-rape drugs in female vics."

Daryl agreed. It wasn't unheard of to find it in male victims, but it was very unusual.

* * *

**AN: I had fun with this chapter, even though the first part was hard. But I knew right away that Andrea and Michonne would appear in this chapter in these roles. I hope you liked it, and please send me a review!**


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: OK slight change to the story. As much as I needed/wanted Blake to be "The Governor", I'm realizing that the Governor of Atlanta is just too prominent a role, and had someone that high up in government been killed, the case probably would not fall under local law enforcement. So our dear Philip Blake has been demoted to the lowly position of Mayor. :-)**

* * *

Over the next couple of days the toxicology reports on the other 3 vics all showed that each man had alcohol and Rohypnol in their systems. Daryl was guessing that since there were no signs of sexual assault on the men, that perhaps the drug was being used to help overpower them, which, if true, may mean that their perp was perhaps on the smaller side and needed a way to bring these men down.

The i.d. checks had all come back as well. In addition to Blake, the other three had been upstanding citizens, at least publicly. Vic number 1 was a mid-level grunt in the city Attorney's office, number 2 was a lawyer with the public defender's office, and number 3 worked for the Atlanta Board of Ethics.

Daryl quietly made notes. All 4 men held some kind of public position, all had been drugged. Two lawyers, an ethics employee, a mayor. No real common bond in their jobs, other than them being employed by the city. Daryl scratched his head, it was a small lead, but he sure wished it was more. Public pressure was mounting, and Walsh was making sure that Daryl's name was front and center. This morning's newscast was depressing. In true media fashion they had splashed hysterical headlines across the t.v. screens and papers - "KNIFE BANDIT STILL AT LARGE". "POLICE NO CLOSER TO CATCHING SERIAL KILLER".

Daryl had given Finley the task of follow-up interviews with the men's wives. Each man had left behind a wife and kids. Perhaps he'd find a connection there. He was getting ready to sift through more paper work when his phone buzzed.

"Dixon"

Commander Walsh was on the other side. "Detective, I'd like you to join me in my office at once please."

Walsh disconnected before Daryl could even respond. He sighed, wondering what the hell was up now.

Dropping his phone back into its cradle he got up and headed over to Walsh's office. He debated on being polite and knocking, or just barging in. He actually stood there for a few seconds trying to decide and decided to compromise by banging on the door rather loudly.

Daryl heard Walsh drop something and a muttered "goddammit". Sounded like Daryl's knocking had startled him. He smirked and then went straight-faced before he entered at Walsh's yell to come in.

Daryl walked into the luxurious office. Most of the folks who had earned an office here had a typical squad office. Metal desk, bare floors, broken mini-blinds. But not Walsh. No sir, this man had an ornate wooden desk, designer curtains, expensive rugs, the whole nine yards.

Daryl refused to acknowledge Walsh's bitch of a wife sitting off to the side, doing something that made her look important. At least she thought so. Her long acrylic nails were clacking away on her phone as she texted somebody. Once again she was dressed to impress. High heels, red wrap dress, diamonds, hair just so. Blood red nails to match her lips. She sat in a cushioned chair, perched actually, like she was the fucking Queen of England.

She decided to grace Daryl with her voice.

"Really Shane darling, must he be in here now? Is he really that important?" She simpered. Daryl just raised an eyebrow, repeating over and over inside his head "I will not kill the bitch" and kept his lips clenched to keep from saying anything.

Walsh gave his wife an indulgent smile. "Now, now my dear, just need to do a little bit of work here, then it's all about you my love."

Daryl was sure he was going to puke right here. If he moved over a few inches he could probably make sure it hit Lori.

Lori looked smugly at Daryl, but her eyes were fucking cold as ice. She very slowly crossed her legs, then proceeded to buff her nails.

Walsh narrowed his eyes at Daryl. "I'd like an update now on these murders."

So Daryl, despite the fact he had forwarded copies of the reports to Walsh earlier, relayed what he now knew about the victims. Walsh just stared at him and told him he better see about getting somewhere on these cases so that the media could be given information. Daryl refrained from telling Walsh it was his own fucking fault the media was running away with this story.

* * *

Back at his desk he was trying to get back to his paperwork when Finley bounced back into the room.

"Heeey heeey heeey bossman!" God, now the fucker was trying to channel Fat Albert.

"Th' fuck you want Finley." Daryl growled.

"I'se gots da inta-views" Finely said, bouncing around on his toes.

"Goddamn Finley are ya high or somethin'? Sitcha fuckin' ass down already, and give me the interviews."

After grabbing the paperwork and recordings from Finely, Daryl spent the next couple of hours reading the transcripts while listening to the recordings. Nothing seemed to pop out right away, all 4 men, as due their job positions, worked a lot of hours, did a lot of business travel, and frequently had late nights. No, their wives didn't know of anyone who would want to hurt their husbands or want them dead. Other than them having late nights, and sometimes coming home sometimes in the middle of the night, nothing screamed out at Daryl.

Daryl just couldn't seem to get a good, solid feel on these cases. He went back over the evidence reports. The knives were nothing exciting, just your basic kitchen knife. They were all different brands, a couple were just cheap Oneida knives, one was actually a Wustoff, which Daryl knew was expensive, and the other had no name brand on it. Long, sharp blades. The vics were all dressed, i.d.s were in their pockets, so the perp either didn't care, or wanted the men to be identified. Other than the knife through the eye, no other signs of trauma were found on the body. Items that had been collected at the scenes had turned out to be useless things that so far had no relation at all to the crime. Just junk that happened to be in the area when the body was left.

Which got Daryl to thinking. None of the bodies had been dragged to their final resting places. No scuff marks on their shoes, no tell-tale drag marks on the ground. Which meant they died in that spot. The nature of the wounds was such that there was not a vast amount of blood on the ground. It was as if the knife acted as a plug. So either the perp stabbed them and then carried them to that spot, or they were killed right there. Daryl doubted they were carried. Philip Blake was a big man, at least 6 foot, if not more, and probably a solid 220 pounds. He'd have been a tough one to carry.

And Daryl still was not sure what the significance of the knife through the eye was. It could have been the killer trying to make a trademark for himself, or it could be a personal thing. No way to know at this point.

Daryl continued to re-read the reports and update his murder board, hoping that something he had missed so far would pop out at him. He looked at his clock, it coming up on 7pm. He figured he'd work for another hour or so and head home. He started writing up a list of things to tackle the next day, marking off which items he'd give to Finely to deal with.

Walsh came out of his office and headed over to Daryl's desk, putting on and buttoning up an overcoat as he walked. Daryl ignored him until Walsh was practically on top of him, and then looked up, raising an eyebrow. In the background he saw Lori pause by Walsh's office as she put her coat on, obviously the pair were getting ready to leave.

Walsh stood for a second and just looked at Daryl, almost like he was thinking what to say. Finally, he said "Commissioner Grimes just called me. He'd like to set up a meeting with you at your earliest convenience."

Daryl just nodded his head, "Ok, I'll give him a call."

Walsh started to walk away, then stopped and looked back at Daryl.

"He didn't tell me what it was about. You trying to do a run-around on me? Because if you are, you better re-think it Detective."

Daryl just looked at Walsh like he was losing his marbles. Run-around? What the hell was he talking about?

"Sir I have no fucking idea why he wants to talk to me. I haven't spoken to Rick in over a year."

With that Walsh strode off towards the exit. "Come on Lori, lets go."

Lori had watched the exchange, and quickly replied "I'll be right there sweetie."

She then zeroed in on Daryl and stomped over to his desk and bent over it to snarl at Daryl in a low but deadly voice.

"Don't you dare think you can go behind my husband's back to advance your agenda you filthy redneck trash. I know you what you're trying to do, and I won't let you!" And with that she turned on her heel and stormed out of the building.

Daryl was so shocked he didn't even reply.

"What the fuck in all that's holy was _that_ about?"

Daryl jumped, not realizing he wasn't alone. He looked over at Michonne, who had overheard Lori spitting at Daryl.

Daryl looked at her, seriously at a loss. "I have no fucking idea what she was on about. That woman is seriously fucked in the head."

Michonne shook her head in a "what the fuck" manner. "So what's your agenda that has her highness' panties in a wad?" she chuckled.

Daryl just snorted. "Last I checked, I was just trying to do my fucking job and catch this goddamn killer."

Michonne went back to her desk, looking back towards the exit one more time, then back at Daryl.

"Watch your back with her, Dixon."

Daryl agreed. That woman was off.

Trying to get back into his work and push off the weirdness of that scene with Lori, he rubbed the back of his neck and then started chewing on his thumb.

Daryl's phone rang, and he absent-mindedly picked it up.

"Dixon".

_"Detective Dixon, this Sergeant Morales. Sir we have another body matching our knife bandit's m.o."_

* * *

**AN: Thank you to my two reviewers, my first two ever!**


	6. Chapter 6

Daryl drove his truck up to the motel and parked in amongst the various police cruisers. He got out, and putting the chain for his badge over his head walked over to the taped off area.

The officer working that section of the tape was unknown to him, so Daryl held his badge up as he approached saying "Homicide", and the officer lifted the tape for him so Daryl could enter the scene.

Daryl was actually too tired to snap at anyone tonight about possibly contaminating the scene. He saw Martinez was working again and went up to him, nodding.

Martinez bobbed his head back at Daryl and stubbed out his cigarette.

"Dixon. Got another body for you."

Daryl just sighed as he headed into room 6a telling Martinez to give him the pertinent info.

Snapping on his gloves, Daryl walked the small room, trying to not get in the way of the forensic photographers. The techs had already started their work, bagging the vic's hands. A large knife was sticking out of the man's eye.

Right off the bat though Daryl got a little shiver of excitement. This scene was just a tiny bit different. He wasn't going to allow himself to say specifically to himself yet, in order to keep his mind open, but something just felt different about this one.

"Do we have an i.d. yet?"

Martinez looked at his notepad. "Yeah, found his wallet on the bedside table. Name's Shawn Greene."

The name didn't mean anything yet to Daryl, and he continued to survey the area around the bed, where the vic was laid out. Daryl looked closely at him. His shoes were off, shirt was untucked and the first half of the buttons were undone. He had a belt on that had been unbuckled. Though the bed under him was made, it was rumpled like someone had been moving around on it.

"Has anyone gone through the trash yet?"

Daryl looked around and a tech caught his eye and shook his head, saying "No sir" to Daryl.

Daryl looked at the tech, telling him to make sure it was bagged and labeled, as well as any other trash cans. He then grabbed the photographer and told him to get close-ups on the belt buckle.

Martinez was watching him and snagged him. "Whatcha thinkin' jefe?"

Daryl stood back and just looked around. There was a briefcase on the little chair off to the side being bagged and tagged.

"I think I finally have something a bit different to go on."

When Martinez just raised his eyebrow at him, Daryl continued.

"Vics 1-4 were the same as this guy, nicely dressed, white, darker hair. But, this guy, this guy has parts of his clothes undone, and he's in a motel room. There's no luggage, just a briefcase."

Martinez nodded, then said "Perhaps his luggage is still in the car?"

Daryl looked at him, but then said "Have we identified a car yet?" Martinez shook his head.

Daryl went over to the evidence bag containing the wallet, opening it up and looking at the man's drivers license.

"He has a local address on his DL. So why would someone who lives in Atlanta come to a motel with no luggage, undo his shirt and belt, and lay down?

Martinez started nodding, "no luggage, local, he was here for a rendezvous. Possibly an affair. Although judging by his state of dress, he didn't get much, if any action before being stuck with the knife."

This was why Daryl wanted the trash cans bagged. He spotted the tech again.

"Go through the cans that have been bagged, look for any condoms, used or otherwise."

The tech grimaced at his "good" luck of getting to pick through looking for a used condom, but set to work.

The prints tech had arrived and had started dusting. Daryl told him to dust the buckle on the belt first, then the rest. It was a nice solid brass buckle, maybe he'd get lucky.

The tech dusted and pulled off only some partial prints. He told Daryl he'd run them, but wasn't hopeful as they looked smeared.

Daryl went over to where the briefcase was and tried to open it, but noticed it was one of those ones that had the little lock thingys on it. Daryl quickly weighed the idea of waiting for forensics to try and open it, or for him to just use his pocket knife to jimmy the lock. Since he was not exactly known for his patience, Daryl decided to jimmy it and pulled out his knife, sliding it into the seam to try and pry it open. After a few minutes and putting a nick in his blade, he finally got the thing open.

He carefully began to sort through the contents of the case. It looked like a typical businessman's briefcase. Pens, a small calculator, a pad of post-it notes, etc. The papers looked financial, but it was just a guess for Daryl. Honestly it could've been written in Greek for all he knew. A couple of packets of paper had cover sheets with "PROPRIETARY INFORMATION" written across it. He flipped through them but had no idea what he was looking at. He'd leave it for forensics to sort through. Sighing in defeat, he closed it up, then had a tech wrapped some crime scene tape around it to keep it closed since he had busted the locks on it, and re-bagged it.

Martinez walked over and asked, "Anything of interest in there?"

Daryl cracked his neck. "Naw, 'nother fucking dead end."

The crime scene techs and forensics unit finished up and the coroner's aide bagged up the body and hauled him down to the morgue to join the other four.

Daryl checked his watch, it was just after 9. He was supposed to call the Commissioner, and wondered if it was too late. He only had the office number, so he figured he'd call and just leave a message, and then in the morning his secretary could pass it on.

Dialing the number he waited and was surprised when on the second ring someone picked up. A tired sounding voice answered.

"Commissioner Grimes..."

Daryl started a bit, not sure what to say. Honestly he didn't think anyone, let alone the Commissioner himself, would not only be working at this hour, but answer the phone himself.

"Uh Rick, I mean Commissioner, sir, it's Detective Dixon, uh I was told to call you?"

Daryl heard a slight chuckle. "Daryl, please, I thought we were friends. Don't give me that 'Commissioner' b.s."

Daryl relaxed then, slightly. "How are ya Rick? Haven't heard from you in a while. What can I do for ya? "

Ricked sighed a little into the phone. "Listen, I wanted to meet up tomorrow if possible. Maybe we could meet for lunch or something?"

Daryl didn't answer right away. Something was up with Rick. He hadn't talked to the man in a year and suddenly he calls wanting to have a lunch date?

"Rick what's going on man? Am I in trouble or something about this damn case?"

Before Daryl could work himself into a rant, Rick cut him off.

"No, no, nothing like that. But I can't...don't...want to discuss it over the phone. You have a nice out of the way place to meet?"

Daryl could only think of the bar, and as he went to answer Rick cut in again.

"You know what, don't tell me over the phone. I'm gonna give you my cell number, text me the address and we can meet around , and, uh, do me a favor, see if Merle can join you?"

Daryl said ok, and they ended the call. Daryl was wondering what the fuck was going on. It was the second case of "WTF" he'd had tonight, first Lori going all batshit crazy on him, now Rick acting all weird. Daryl's phone beeped, telling him a text had come in. It was Rick's cell, so he replied with the address to the Crest.

* * *

Daryl finally made his way home and pulled his truck up into the driveway next to Merle's bike. His own bike was in the garage.

He walked in, tossing his keys onto the table and then removing his jacket and shoulder harness with his 9mm in it and throwing it next to the keys. He stood there for a moment, trying to decide what to do first. He needed something to eat, aspirin and a shower. Probably in that order.

He walked into the kitchen and saw his brother in there, sitting at their little table with a half-empty mug of coffee in one hand, a cigarette in the other and newspaper on the table in front of him.

"Hey baby brother, late night eh?" Merle asked, not looking up from his paper. Daryl just grunted in response, looking over Merle's shoulder to see what he was reading. Pfft, he should'a known, it was the comics section. Nothing too intellectual for his big brother.

Daryl opened the fridge hoping maybe the food fairy had been by. He was pleasantly surprised when he saw a box of fried chicken in there. Merle must've stopped off on his way home. He grabbed the box, then tried to decide between a beer or coke. Eh, calories was calories he thought, and went for the beer.

He sat down next to Merle and grabbed a piece of the chicken out of the box and started eating. Merle suddenly slapped him upside the back of his head.

Mouth full of chicken Daryl spat out "The fuck Merle?!"

Merle just looked at him, getting up and grabbing a plate from the cupboard and putting it in front of Daryl.

"Seriously brother, whatcha brought up in a barn? Use a fucking plate."

Daryl knocked him in the head. "Fuckin' Martha Stewart now? Asshole."

Merle chuckled and went back to his paper. Daryl put his chicken on the plate.

Daryl glared at his brother. He kept eating and drinking his beer. When he'd polished off three pieces he wiped his mouth off on his sleeve, on purpose, and sat back in his chair.

"So, uh, I talked to Rick today."

Merle looked up. "Grimes? What's he want?"

Daryl nodded. "Yeah, Walsh came storming out and told me he had called and wanted to talk to me. Got called out on another body, and so called him about an hour ago. Says he wants to meet up for lunch tomorrow. Wants to talk. Was all secretive an' shit, wouldn't tell me why over the phone. Told me to _text_ him the fuckin' address, not say it out loud. Oh, and he told me to ask you to tag along."

Merle raised his eyebrows. "Me? What's he want me there for?"

Daryl just snorted and started in on his thumb again. "Hell if I know. Been one fuck of a day."

Daryl caught Merle up on the hellish day he'd had, then went upstairs to grab a shower. He was bone tired but needed to scrub off some of the grime. He may have been a born and bred redneck, but even he had his stink limits.

* * *

Daryl stood in the shower and just let the hot water run over him. He barely had the energy to actually soap up. He braced his arms on the wall and let the heat of the water hit his back. Some days he just felt emotionally tired. He started to think about Carol. God he missed her. When he had days like this he could be sullen and snarly and she'd just give him that little half smile and pat the couch next to her, telling him to sit. And when he did she'd rub his shoulders or back or something, and he'd end up spilling what it was that had made his day hell, and when he was done she'd hug him and give him a kiss and tell him she loved him. And he'd feel so much lighter, like he had unburdened himself. She always knew how to deal with him. He'd give anything to hold her again.

"I hope you're up there in heaven Carol, watching over me."

Daryl stepped out and dried off, brushed his teeth and had just enough energy left to put a pair of pajama bottoms on and fall into his bed. He was asleep almost before his head hit the pillow.

He dreamed of his cases, surreal and abstract. The victims were swimming through the air, doing acrobatics and shit. At some point a donkey flew by. Cell phones danced and played tunes using their ringtones, then would pop out of the picture one by one.

When Daryl woke up the next morning, barely rested, he thought back over his dreams. They were fucking weird he thought. He was starting to wonder if that chicken had been off.

* * *

Daryl strode into the office and snarled at a grunt who had the audacity to be chipper in front of him.

Finley was at his desk, earbuds in and playing drums on the edge of his desk with a couple of pens. Periodically he'd sing out loud the lyrics to whatever is what he was listening to. Daryl tried to ignore him and get to work. He started to update his murder board, adding the details from last night's scene. It felt like every couple of minutes he'd look at his watch to see if it was time to meet Rick. He mentally smacked himself, hell, he had a few hours before he had to leave. But it was distracting him, wondering what was going on with him, and why the secret meet-up. He missed Rick. When his old man had retired as Commissioner and Rick had replaced him, Daryl was happy for him. But it had meant, for some reason, a lapse in their friendship. Honestly, it had started to lapse right after Lori had hooked up with Shane. Maybe Rick had been thinking that since Shane was Daryl's boss, Daryl would be closer to Shane now. Nevermind the fact that Rick was all of their bosses. Daryl mentally shrugged. He didn't know what was going on, but maybe he'd find out soon enough.

Daryl jumped, startled when Finely suddenly jumped up, belting out the lines to "We Will Rock You" and using his desktop as a bass drum. Daryl growled and threw his stapler at him, hitting him in the chest.

"Shut the fuck up you moron!" Daryl growled.

Finley had managed to catch the stapler in one hand and pulled his ear buds out with the other hand.

"Woah bossman, what was that for?" Finley wiggled his hips at Daryl. "Dontcha like my singin'?"

Daryl just glared at him. He really didn't have the patience for Finley's antics today. Between not sleeping all that well and the anxiety over this upcoming meeting, Daryl felt ready to rip heads off.

Before he could come up with any kind of retort, an admin hurried up to Daryl and handed him a packet, saying the message on the envelope had just come in. It was the various reports from last night's case. Tox report wasn't in there, but he didn't expect it to be back this soon, those always took a while. Trash cans turned up nothing. No used condoms, not even a tissue. The prints from the belt buckle belonged to the vic. Preliminary autopsy showed cause of death, surprise-surprise, to be due to a knife in the eye. Daryl went back to the envelope. There was a post-it note on the outside of the envelope. It just said "Dixon, when you get a chance come see me in the morgue - E. J.".

Daryl figured it was as good a time as any, so he grabbed his keys and jacket and told Finely he was going to head over to the morgue. Finley just nodded at him and gave him that stupid cluck-cluck finger gun salute that he was so fond of.

He'd brought his bike today and he jumped on and revved up the engine, then peeled out into traffic and headed down to where they kept dead folk.

It took him about 15 minutes to dodge in and out of traffic before he pulled up to the out-dated building. Walking in he flashed his badge and told the bored-looking receptionist reading a Stephen King novel that he was there to see the senior Coroner. After signing in and passing through security, he headed down into the bowels of the building. He didn't see anyone around, so he poked his head through one of the push doors to an autopsy suite and saw the coroner cleaning up, looked like he had just finished working on a body. He turned and saw Daryl.

"Dixon! Wow I didn't expect to see you down here this quickly. Come on in!"

Daryl walked in, trying to cover his nose from the smell a little by chewing on his thumb.

"Hey Dr. Jenner, gotcha note. What's up?"

Ed Jenner washed his hands and chuckled at Daryl. "Man you can deal with murders and dead bodies, but you always cringe at the smell in here. What's up with that?"

They finally walked back out into the hallway and Daryl gave his thumb a break. "Yeah man, dunno. That's a whole different smell in there. Like, hospital smell. I fucking hate hospitals."

They walked back into Jenner's office and sat, and Jenner took out his report on Shawn Greene. "I wasn't sure if this was important or not, so hopefully I'm not getting your hopes up or anything. But the other victims in this case had nothing remarkable in their stomach contents. Mostly alcohol, some fairly digested food remnants. Digested enough to tell me it had been some time since they had eaten.

Mr. Greene on the other hand had just eaten, and eaten well, when he died. Alcohol, in the form of champagne, steak, veggies, potato. And a healthy helping of dessert, creme brule by the smell of it."

Daryl cringed at that. The fuck, why would he even try to smell some dead man's stomach contents. That was just wrong.

"And the Rohypnol. So we have a little bit of a difference here in that Mr. Greene ate well and died shortly thereafter. The alcohol content was much higher as well, it hadn't been digest much, unlike the others."

Daryl took in this new information. It could definitely mean something, especially in conjunction with this vic being found in a motel room partially dressed.

Jenner handed him a photocopy of the paper he'd read from, and Daryl thanked the man. He was finally starting to feel like he was getting somewhere in this. This had to mean something.

Daryl hightailed it out of the morgue and got back onto his bike to head back to the precinct. When he arrived he pinned down Finley.

"Finley, did we ever determine if last night's vic had a car left behind in the parking lot of that motel?"

Finely shook his head. "Nope, we ran his DMV info and found he owns an Audi, Mercedes and a little Porsche Boxter. None of those were found at the motel. I'm heading over to the old lady's for a follow-up and will see if all of the cars are accounted for at their residence."

Daryl nodded to him. OK so Mr. Greene had nice wheels. Expensive wheels. So did whoever killed him take his car? Or did he get a ride from his killer?

Daryl relayed his newfound information that he got from the coroner to Finely. Finley was raising his eyebrows a little, and finally started to look like he was taking things a bit more seriously. Of course until he opened his mouth again, Daryl thought.

"So loverboy was wined, dined, and dead. Man that sucks. But at least he got dinner before being fucked up." Finley then laughed at himself like he was the next Robin Williams. Daryl just shook his head.

He glanced at his watch and decided he should head over for the meetup. He called Merle and asked if he needed a ride, but Merle said he'd be there a few minutes late and had his bike. Hanging up, Daryl stood and grabbed his keys and jacket again.

Looking over at Finley, he said "I'm heading out for a bit. Not sure when I'll be back."

Daryl made his way over to the exit and couldn't help but notice Lori Walsh staring at him from Shane's office. Did that woman have nothing better to do than hang around here every day?

* * *

**AN: Please send me a review, even a quick one, I really appreciate them!**


	7. Chapter 7

Daryl pulled up to the Crest and parked his bike. It didn't look like Merle was here yet, and he didn't know if Rick was either.

He strode in to the bar and nodded hello to the man behind the bar, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. After a minute he began to scan the tables and he spotted Rick sitting all the way in the back corner, back to the wall and watching the front entrance. Daryl caught his eye and nodded. He looked over to the barman and ordered a beer, asking to have it brought over to him.

He walked in between the tables and made his way over to Rick and sat down, wordlessly. Rick took a drink of his beer then grabbed Daryl's hand in a shake. Rick looked tired. They exchanged a few pointless pleasantries. Stalling apparently for the real reason they were there. Daryl asked after Carl, Rick told him he was growing like a weed and had a mouth that could sass the socks off anybody. Daryl just laughed, not doubting it for a second. Finally Rick got down to business.

"Daryl, thanks so much for meeting with me. Damn it's been too long. It's good to see you."

Daryl smiled, "yeah man. I've missed you." Daryl took the beer that was brought over to him, thanking Maria, the waitress. "What the hell's going on man? Why the secret meet-up, and why do you need Merle brought into this? If you need him here, that tells me something's going on I ain't gonna like."

Rick sighed, but didn't answer right away. It was almost as if he was trying to figure out how to say what needed to be said. Daryl didn't press him, slowly drinking his beer and watching him. Daryl's phone buzzed, telling him a call was coming in. He hit the ignore button without even looking at it.

Finally Rick looked up at him, taking a pull on his beer he said, "It looks like we may have an issue inside."

Daryl just looked at him, bottle to his lips. "Inside? Inside what?"

When Rick just looked at him, Daryl rose his eyebrows in disbelief.

"You mean, _inside_ - inside? The department?"

Rick nodded. Daryl sat back, not believing what he'd just heard. I mean, APD was definitely big enough that it could happen, they weren't exactly no Mayberry, he thought to himself. But they also weren't the LAPD or NYPD, or better yet, Chicago PD, where you always heard on the news about corruption of some sort.

Daryl asked his friend what Daryl had to do with any of this. Rick leaned back as well, playing with his beer.

"The problem is inside homicide Daryl. I don't have a lot of details or info just yet. Hell I shouldn't even be telling you this, but I know I can trust you to keep this quiet. I just wanted to tell you to watch your back."

Before Daryl could respond to that, Merle strode up and slapped his brother on the back, then sat down.

"So Officer Friendly, see this here pow-wow is already started. You fill my baby brother in yet?"

Rick nodded at Merle, then looked back at Daryl. Daryl was looking at his brother, realizing now why his brother was asked to tag along. Looked like IAD had already gotten their noses into whatever mess was on Rick's plate. Daryl's phone buzzed again. He ignored it.

* * *

Rick ordered another round of beers and each man ordered lunch to go with it. They chatted aimlessly while waiting for their food. Daryl wasn't ready to dive back in to the topic at hand, he needed to chew this around in his head.

It looked like Rick was only confiding to the Dixon brothers for now, which meant he wasn't sure who the problem was. Rick knew he could trust both Daryl and Merle with that confidence. Merle had worked for IAD for as long as Daryl had been a cop, and he was good at his job. Most people hated Merle. They hated IAD in general, equating them to the "big brother" of the department. The narcs. And they had Merle at the top of their hate list because he was damn good at what he did. Merle had worked for a few departments, kind of bouncing around where needed. He had a nose for ferreting out corrupt officers and as a result PDs around the south had brought him on board for cases they needed help on. Daryl couldn't believe Merle was having to look for someone in his own department.

Maria arrived with their lunches. She set Merle's plate down with a flourish and straightened his napkin for him, a coy smile on her lips. Merle winked at her.

"Thanks there seen-yor-rita sweet cheeks", Merle flirted at her. Maria blushed then swayed her hips away and headed back to the bar. She blew Merle a kiss over her shoulder as she went.

Daryl snorted at his brother. Merle could charm any woman out there.

Daryl finished chewing a bite of his mac 'n cheese, finally speaking up again.

"So, what 'xactly is my role in this Rick. Ain't looking at me I hope, cuz you know I'm straight as an arrow. I ain't no fuck-up".

Rick started to respond but Merle beat him to it, shaking his head and wiping his mouth off.

"Naw little bro, it ain't you. You probably the only one we can trust right now. Ain't sure who it is."

Daryl figured as much, but felt like he needed to put that out there. Besides, he wouldn't put it past someone to try and make him look bad, what with his penchant for pissing people off.

"So can you tell me anything about what's going on then?" Daryl asked.

Rick kind of bounced is head around, "yes and no. I mean, we don't know a whole hell of a lot. But it looks like these cases that've been hitting you lately may be related. I honestly can't go into much more other than that, for now, until we have a better idea of who is behind this..."

Daryl started to object but Rick cut him off. "Daryl, I can't. I won't put you in that position. I'm sorry. Just try to keep your eyes open a bit more than usual. I wish I could tell you more, I really do."

Daryl growled back at Rick and began to push him for more details when this time his phone alert went off, telling him a text came in. Exasperated Daryl pulled his phone off and looked at the text.

_Another body bossman, same as the others. 4th and Main, inside the men's room at Frank's Bistro._

"Well fuck it all" Daryl spat. He looked at his brother and Rick. "Guess it's time to see to another stiff with a knife in the eye."

* * *

**AN: So a little bit of a smaller chapter here. I'm still trying to work out in my head how the next few chapters are going to go.**

**And to cover my backside, I have no idea if IRL IAD people would actually be hired out between departments like that, but it works for my story so there, lol.**

**Please send me a review, I gotta get more than two!**


	8. Chapter 8

Rick watched as Daryl took off from the bar to the latest crime scene. Merle stayed behind, there was no reason for him to leave yet and he had decided another beer was in order. "You gotcha self a plan there Grimes"? he asked between gulps of beer.

Rick didn't answer right away. Hell he didn't have a plan. Not yet. He had always been the planner, but at the moment a good, solid one was eluding him. He looked over at Merle and just shook his head at him.

Merle finished his beer and standing up, placed some money on the table next to his brother's to cover his meal. "Well then I guess I'll head on outa here." And with that Merle gave a mock salute to Rick and left, throwing a little flirting wink in at the waitress on his way out.

Rick continued to sit, thinking about his lack of a plan. It was really bothering him to not have one in the works at least. Good ole Rick Grimes, always has a plan. He snorted to himself, then found himself drifting back in a memory.

* * *

_Senoia, Georgia, 1984_

**_Ricky Grimes, Master Planner of Mayhem._**

_Ricky smiled to himself. That was a good title for himself, if he did say so himself. There was no way Daryl could say this plan was stupid, no siree. And if he did, well that Daryl Dixon could go eat rocks. He looked down at his paper that he had swiped from his mom's reading area. The map was all set. Green crayon showed the area to go to, red crayon marked the dangerous parts (you know, like where that mean ole Mr. Boudreaux lived with his big ugly dog that always barked at Ricky.) And in yellow crayon, a big X. X marks the spot._

_Just then there was a banging on the underside of the trap door. Ricky yelled down without opening it, "Password!"_

_He could hear irritated sighing from the other side._

_"Oh for crikes sake Ricky, you know it's me!"_

_Ricky just smiled. "Me who? Say the password or there's no entrance!"_

_More grumbling from the other side, then quiet. Thinking that maybe he gave up and went back home, and not wanting to risk losing half of his team for his latest exploit, Ricky moved to open the trap door when he heard a reply._

_"Ugh. Fine!" A beat of silence. "Ricky Grimes is the man, master of the better plan. There! I said it! Now let me in you butt face!"_

_Ricky smiled again, pleased with his latest password to the fortress. He leaned over and opened the trap door. Standing on the 4x4 wood studs nailed into the tree to act as ladder was Daryl, waiting to finish climbing up the tree and into the treehouse._

_Daryl climbed up and in, scowling at Ricky. "Honest to gosh that is the stuuuupidest password yet" he said surly as he sat down cross legged, elbows on his knees and plunked his chin into his hands. He had on dirty pants with a ripped open knee, dirty shirt, and what looked like a fresh bruise on his arm. Ricky saw it and thought it kinda looked like a hand._

_But Ricky Grimes knew better than to say anything to Daryl Dixon. Like his daddy said, it was best to ignore it. But he still kinda wanted to. But Daryl was his bestest friend in the whole wide world and if not asking him why he always had booboos meant he didn't get mad like Daryl's daddy tended to do, then he'd be quiet._

_But he had more and better things to talk about anyways. He had a new plan. He couldn't wait to tell Daryl. Ricky grabbed his rucksack and pulled out two bottles of pop and two sandwiches. He gave one of each to Daryl and he took the others. Daryl took it gladly. He was hungry and his daddy was mad again and wouldn't let him eat. Daryl dug in while Ricky pulled out his map._

_"Lookie Daryl, I got a good one this time!" Ricky said excitedly._

_Daryl just snorted and kept eating. Ricky always had maps and plans and all that stuff. Sometimes they was good, he thought. But usually they ended up lost somewhere for hours, trying to get back home._

_"Hey Daryl, ya know that old silo up by the grocery store where mama likes to shop? Well guess what, I heard from Timmy Goodall that there was gold buried in there. Can you imagine? If we found it we could be rich! I bet there's like, lots of gold there. Like I bet a hundred dollars worth!"_

_Daryl looked at Ricky wide-eyed. Wow, a hundred dollars of gold, he could be like a king with that._

_"You sure there's gold buried there? Cuz that Timmy Goodall has a big mouth. At least that's what Mrs. Simpson down at the laundrymat says."_

_Ricky nodded his head hard enough to bruise his brain. "Uh huh! Cuz his big brother Mike said so too, and why would he lie? So whaddya think? We should go find it. I even gots a map all drawed out and a plan an' everything."_

_So for the next few hours little Ricky Grimes and his bestest friend in the whole wide world planned out their gold heist until Mrs. Grimes yelled up that it was time for dinner and for the two of them to get down out of the tree. Waving goodbye to each other Ricky ran inside his plantation style home for a nice sit down dinner while Daryl walked through the woods to his cabin, grateful that he got that sandwich from Ricky. He could hear his mama and daddy fighting and knew there'd be nothing to eat again tonight._

* * *

Rick was smiling to himself as he came out of his memory. God that little master plan had been a doozy. They had packed their bags with what they needed for their big adventure: a flashlight, sandwiches, bottles of pop, marbles, his mama's gardening trowel to dig the gold up, gum, a stick with a piece of paper on it to be stuck in the ground declaring it to be owned by "Grimes & Dixon Co."

Course what ended up happening had been very far from his 'master plan'. After being caught by old farmer James digging a hole in the bottom of his silo the boys had grabbed their bags and high-tailed it out of there, with threats of "I'm gonna call your mama boy!" thrown at them. They had been so scared at being caught they ran right past the Boudreaux house, startling, then riling up, his mean old dog Brutus who gave chase. That ugly mutt had finally forced the two up a tree until nearly dinner time before it had been deemed safe enough to climb down and race home. Both boys headed back to their homes with grins and scuffed knees. Ricky was already planning his next adventure, and Daryl knew he'd be right there with him, no matter how stupid it was.

Rick and Daryl had been friends since day one. They were always getting into trouble with each other. People always talked behind their backs about the odd pairing. Little Daryl Dixon, younger son of the town drunk. No one liked Dixon Sr. He was plain ole mean and was always given a wide berth. Not much good was said about the older son. Merle was always in and out of juvie, usually for stealing. No one ever seemed to notice the types of things he stole, like food, toilet paper, pants that were too small for him but just the right size for his baby brother. But he was a Dixon, and he had a mouth on him, so he was looked down on. Daryl managed to stay off everyone's radar. He was always dirty, always hungry, and always had new and interesting shaped bruises. But he avoided people as much as possible. Rick had been his only friend. Ricky Grimes, son of the town sheriff. Living a good life in a plantation home that had land and money and people who worked on the land.

It wasn't until high school when Lori had moved into town and caught Rick's eye that their friendship had seen its first rockiness. Daryl had never understood what Rick saw in her. He found her to be stuck up and snotty as hell. She came from money as well, and certainly acted like it. After latching her claws into Rick she had cleverly manipulated him, creating a chasm in their friendship. She looked down at Daryl, he was just backwoods white trash to her. A few years ago Rick had finally started to open his eyes to Lori's true personality. He shook his head at himself. His friendship with Daryl had suffered because of her. The only good thing to have come out his farce of a marriage was Carl.

But she had finally gotten what she wanted apparently. He wasn't exactly sure what it was to be honest. But he guessed Shane offered her something he hadn't. It was funny though, for all her condescension towards Daryl, Rick was proud of what the Dixon boys had managed to become as adults. Rick remembered the last stint Merle did in juvie. He'd been caught in Sam Jenkin's store trying to steal medicine and bandages for Daryl. Old man Dixon had beat Daryl with some kind of whip, flaying open his back. The clerk had caught Merle and called the sheriff. Rick's dad had gone down personally to arrest him. Old man Jenkins had come down to the store to see what was going on. When the sheriff and Jenkins had seen what was being stolen, they knew what had happened. They couldn't do anything though without someone, like Merle, stepping forward and telling them what was going on at home. Both older men had implored Merle to open up to them, but he refused to say anything. Merle knew if he said anything and his old man found out, Daryl would take the abuse, and Merle was scared to lose Daryl. One of these days his old man would go too far and end up killing Daryl. Sheriff Grimes knew Merle was two days from turning 18, and hoping he could scare Merle straight, decided to have him spend the night in the adult section of the county jail. He had gotten his own cell, but Merle had spent the night listening to the taunts of adult men who were hardened criminals call to him all night.

A week later, after the charges of theft had been dropped by Jenkins, the police and an ambulance had been called to the Dixon cabin. Dixon Sr. sat in his chair, gunshot to the head, a handgun placed in his hand.

In the other room sat the Dixon boys, the older sporting a black eye and a broken finger with his arms wrapped around the younger in a protective grasp, trying to hide the busted lip and split open eye of his baby brother, while he told the police how his pa had decided to end his own life.

Sheriff Grimes had taken their word for it that night, ruled it a suicide, and nothing was ever again said.

And now look at them, Rick thought. Both well respected, if somewhat hated, members of their field. Both of them top-notch lawmen.

Rick silently toasted the Dixon brothers, took the last pull on his beer, got up and headed out.

* * *

Daryl stood up and his damn knees popped. "Goddamn sound like a friggen old woman" he muttered to himself. He stretched his legs out while trying to not look like he was stretching his legs out, he'd be damned if he was caught "looking old".

"Snap, crackle, pop eh boss"?

Daryl sighed and looked up heavenward. Of course he wouldn't go un-noticed by the world's most irritating partner. Daryl turned and leveled his best glare at his partner. His partner of course was clueless and kept on going.

"So like, wow man, this one is cray-zay eh boss? Dude got his head popped like a damn grape."

Daryl had to, albeit reluctantly, agree with Finley on this one. If not for the knife in the eye he'd have written this off as not related to his current cases. Their perp was getting a tad more emotional here it seemed. He stood there, looking at what was left of one Robert Williams. Poor son of a bitch was sitting on the can when someone came in and beat the shit out of him and finished him off with the knife. His iPhone lay on the ground, Daryl picked it up hoping maybe he'd been on a call while taking a crap. Looking at the screen he snorted - candy crush. Figures.

And like all his other crime scenes, there was nothing in the area to give him any clues. No footprints in blood, 8 million fingerprints since it was a public restroom so he wasn't going to hold his breath there. Daryl set Finley to running the man's pertinents while he stepped back to allow forensics to get in to the tight area to photograph and do their thing. This killing had definitely escalated. None of the other vics had been beaten. So what had set the killer off on this guy? Hopefully he'd be able to learn more when the background check came in and he got some idea of who this guy was.

Daryl looked at his watch, it was coming up on 5. He was itching to go home. But he knew it wouldn't happen soon.

Once he made sure the body was being taken care of and forensics was finishing up, he headed back to the precinct to fill out yet another report. He pulled into his parking spot and killed the engine, and walked up the steps into the dismal building. He never understood why precincts had to look like something out of an apocalypse. Sure, he supposed it was intimidating to the people dragged in in cuffs, but for the slobs who had to work here it was depressing as hell.

He headed over to his desk and flung his keys down and grabbed his Garfield the Cat mug and headed over the coffee pot. He saw Michonne there and could have sworn she broke her plastic spoon inside her coffee cup while trying to stir sugar into it.

Michonne sighed and looked up at him. "Hey Dix, unless you want to end up on Jenner's table, I suggest skipping the java." She tossed her styrofoam cup with the tar-like coffee into the trash can. "Damn, I really need a jolt too," she muttered.

Daryl quirked his head at her and said "C'mere". He went back to his desk, Michonne following him. He sat down and opened a drawer, pulling out another mug, this one Hello Kitty. He handed it to Michonne, who was leaning against her desk across from him. She raised her eyebrow at Daryl. "Never struck me as a Hello Kitty type Dixon" she snorted.

Daryl just grinned. He had a habit of collecting weird things, he never understood why, it was just something he did. He reached in to another drawer and was trying to pull something off that had been taped to the underside of the desk.

"Be nice to me 'Shonne and I'll share with you". With that Daryl pulled out a can and held it up. It was red and in big bold yellow letters was the word "Jolt" with a lightning bolt.

Michonne's eyes went wide. "Oh my gawd Dixon where the hell did you get that? I haven't seen one of these in years! Holy moly those things are like 100% sugar and caffeine!" She looked giddy at the prospect of receiving the equivalent of an IV stuck right into her heart with caffeine pumped in on an open line.

Daryl smiled at her. "Yeah been saving this for an emergency, and I think today's as good as any." With that he popped the top, savoring the hiss of bubbles and poured half into Michonne's cup and half into his. He laughed as he watched Michonne hold her cup to her nose and inhaled it, eyes closed, like she was about to savor some kind of thousand dollar a bottle wine. She took a sip and a look of pure ecstasy came over her.

"See I knew you weren't the asshole most here make you out to be Dix," she said, still on her first-sip-high. This was pure heaven to her. She was a total sugar and caffeine addict, not that you could tell with her figure. She looked over at Daryl as he took a drink of his soda. He just shrugged. That was typical she thought, he's never been one for words. For all his harsh words and gruff exterior, she often wondered if there was a softer side to him.

Michonne took another drink. "Thanks Daryl, for sharing this with me. Appreciate it." Daryl snorted at her. "It's just a damn soda, not like it's a fancy dinner or sumthin." Michonne decided to wheedle him.

"So when do I get the fancy dinner then huh? Maybe I can wear my 'work' clothes and we can go to some five star joint and give the good people of Atlanta a show." She wiggled her hips at Daryl, and laughed when he went beet red and choked on his soda. Hell his ears were practically smoking.

"Aw fuck me Michonne, Christ I just snorted Jolt, oh my god that burns." And with that they both busted out laughing. Daryl was laughing and trying to clear his nose of soda, and erase the image of Michonne in her "work" clothes before burning ears became the least of his problems.

Michonne was wiping her eyes from laughing, "Why Daryl Dixon I done think you's flustered", she joked. Daryl kept chuckling and wiping his nose, trying to will the heat in his face to go away. "Yeah, I reckon I might be a tad" he laughed.

And Michonne decided to be brave tonight and do something she had secretly wanted to, but never had the nerve, to do. "I tell you what, whaddya say you and me head on over to Jimmy's and get a drink. I'm sick of looking at these walls."

Daryl looked a tad shocked, and panicked. Shit he hadn't gone out with a woman since Carol's passing. Before he could answer Michonne chimed in - "For a drink Daryl, not sex. Geez!" And she laughed again and polished off her Jolt. Daryl smiled and decided to go out on a limb. "Yeah, yeah that sounds good," he said, and then quickly added - "Drinks I mean! No sex! Or uh, uh 'work' clothes, just drinks!"

Michonne just laughed as Daryl pinked up again and he just shook his head like he was the biggest fucking moron this side of the universe. The two of them packed up their gear and decided to walk over to Jimmy's since it was a short walk and a nice night, and if anyone got tipsy they didn't have to worry about a car right away.

* * *

_Look at them, they thought. Goddamn redneck and a colored woman carousing. Nothing would be better than to get the two of them out of the squad once and for all and make things right. At least Dixon was still not close to the right trail. For now anyways. If he started getting warmer, decisions would need to be made._

The figure in the dark watched as the pair walked over to the bar, and made plans.


End file.
